


The Addams Family Affair

by spikesgirl58



Series: The Addams Affairs [1]
Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Napoleon and Illya run into trouble with some THRUSH, it's the Addams Family to the rescue.  UNCLE will never be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Addams Family Affair

 

Napoleon Solo pulled his coat closer about his neck, but it was to no avail.  The rain still found enough room to penetrate it and trickle down his back.  Overhead, lightning flashed, illuminating the surrounding area a brilliant blue white.  He huddled closer to the car, all too aware of the fact that anything metal in a lightning storm wasn’t necessarily a safe thing.

 

“Haven’t you found the trouble yet?” he snapped, sending the beam from the flashlight he held bouncing across the trees lining the road.

 

Illya Kuryain straightened from leaning over the car’s engine and scowled back at his partner.  “If you’d hold the light a bit more steady, perhaps I’d be able to see what I’m doing.”  Illya’s mood was none too pleasant either Napoleon could tell as his wrist was clamped in an iron grip and the beam redirected.

 

Of course, who is in a good mood when his car breaks down in the middle of nowhere during a thunderstorm?  It wasn’t Illya’s fault, Napoleon knew, but he had to take his frustration out on something and he hoped Illya understood that. He chose instead to concentrate upon keeping the beam from wandering again in the hopes that it would speed his partner along.

 

 “Here we go.”  Illya wiped a grease-smeared hand across his forehead as he held up a belt.  “No fraying.  This has been partially cut, probably figured it would give out on a back road where we’d be easier to pick off.”

 

“As in sabotaged?  Why doesn’t that surprise me?”  Napoleon leaned in for a closer inspection.  A distant rumble of a rapidly approaching vehicle caused him to glance over his shoulder.  “Certainly is driving fast for this type of weather.”

 

“Obviously a member of the ‘life is cheap’ crowd.  Napoleon, I think it might be wise if we take cover.  Anybody sane wouldn’t be driving like…”

 

His last words were obliterated by a spray of machine gun fire and both men leapt from the minimal safety afforded them by the car and into a nearby ditch.

 

“Obviously our saboteurs.”  Napoleon pulled his P-38 free from its shoulder holster and aimed at the retreating tail lights.

 

“Nice.”  Illya bobbed up for a shot.  “I just love being out-gunned.”

 

“Not to mention out-numbered, out-tricked and out-witted.”  Napoleon steadied his hand on the fender and put out one of the glowing red lights.

 

“Damn, here comes another.”  Illya flattened himself down against the ground, ignoring the puddles and slap of wet vegetation.

 

The approaching car slowed to a halt, its wheels crunching against the roadside gravel.  “Hello?” a high-pitched voice asked.  “Is anyone here?”

 

Napoleon peeked up from the ditch, his gun at ready.

 

“Look, Lurch, more connoisseurs of the rain.  Are you having a picnic?”

 

“Picnic?  Oh, yeah, this is a real picnic,” Illya mumbled, placing a concerned hand on Napoleon’s arm as Napoleon started to stand.  “Careful, old friend.  This could be a trap.”

 

Napoleon nodded as he slowly stood, keeping his gun at the ready.  “We’re having a little trouble with our car.”

 

“Oh, lovely night for it.”  The voice was cheerful, out of place for the weather and the conditions.

 

Napoleon played the beam of his flashlight toward the voice and frowned.  The speaker appeared as a paste-white face against black, but then he realized the person was wearing a slicker.  Apparently theirs was an older vehicle, for both he and the driver sat out in the midst of the storm.

 

_How peculiar_ , Napoleon thought.  “Could you tell me how far we are from a gas station?” he asked instead, keeping a restraining hand on his partner’s shoulder.

 

“Oh, I don’t know.  Lurch?”  The speaker turned away for a low-rumbled answer.  “About twenty miles, but they aren’t open.  There’s nothing open around here after 9:00 and that makes it most inconvenient for the more night-oriented of us.”

 

“Then do you know of a phone we could use?” Napoleon continued, urged by Illya’s pantomime of using one.

 

“Why don’t you come home with us?  I’m sure Gomez would be more than delighted to let you use ours.”

 

“Well, I…”  Napoleon trailed off as another car approached, driving slowly by them.  “Can’t imagine what could be worse than this,” he continued to Illya.

 

Illya scrambled around to the rear of their car and noted the missing tail light of the passing vehicle.  “We’d better move, Napoleon.  Our friends are back.  We’ll be lucky if they don’t kill the lot of us.”

 

Swiftly they dashed from their sanctuary into the back of their benefactor’s car.  Illya paused just before climbing in.

 

“Illya, what’s wrong?”  Napoleon had already settled onto the tuck-and-roll upholstery.

 

Illya appeared to be considering his words very carefully and he shook his head as the car jerked to a start.  “My imagination must be working overtime.  It’s just that with the last flash of lightning, this thing looked just like a hearse.”

 

“Yes, it is rather nice, don’t you think?  By the way, my name is Fester Addams, but everyone calls me Uncle Fester.  I’m pleased to meet you.”  A pudgy hand came through the window in the sliding glass that separated them.

 

“ _Uncle_ Fester?”  Illya put special emphasis on the word as Napoleon grasped the hand in a carefully neutral grip.  “Small world.”

 

Napoleon shook free of the grasp and began to massage his palm.  “Isn’t it though?  Fester, this is my partner, Illya Kuryain, and I’m Napoleon Solo.”

 

“Any relationship to the Emperor?”

 

“In nature only,” Illya quipped, avoiding the hand by nodding his head towards Fester.

 

“Pity, Nappy was such fun,” Fester said, grinning.

 

                                                                                * * * * *

 

They rolled through the rain-shrouded, darkened town, most of the people in the houses they passed long since retired for the night.  Napoleon, except for making small talk with their host, kept his eye out for a tail, but their THRUSH companions had apparently temporarily given up the chase.

 

 

The chauffeur, Lurch, climbed out to open the gate and Napoleon got an idea of just how big the man really was.

 

“Certainly wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley some night.” Napoleon slid closer to Illya as Lurch returned to continue the drive.

 

Illya eyed the man warily and shook his head.  “I’m not so certain I haven’t.  There was this one alley in Singapore…”

 

The car door was opened and Illya got out, appraising the huge form behind it.  The man wasn’t making any threatening moves; in fact, Fester was halfway up the porch steps, gesturing to them to follow.

 

Napoleon appeared behind Illya and gave him a slight push.  “You’re holding up the show, Mr. Kuryain,” he admonished softly.

 

“You always were one to rush into the eye of the storm.”  Illya smiled hesitantly at Lurch and moved to join Fester.

 

“That’s your house?”  Napoleon gaped as soon as he got his first good look at it.

 

“My brother’s actually.” Fester beamed, practically becoming luminescent.  “Isn’t she a beauty? It took us a long time to get the house as perfect as this, but it’s the little things that make a house a home, don’t you think?”

 

“Yes, it’s very…”  Illya got a push forward from behind by the dark-haired agent.  “…atmospheric.  Reminds me of some of the places I’ve seen in Transylvania.”

 

“Really?”  Fester’s smile widened.  “Wait until I tell Gomez!  He’ll be so happy!  The only thing that puzzles us is why we keep getting bids from wrecking companies for the house.”  Hindered by the slicker, Fester climbed awkwardly up the stairs and hammered on the door with a huge knocker.

 

“Some people have no taste for the finer things in life.”  Napoleon was only half-conscious of speaking.  Mostly he was just looking.

 

The heavy oak door swung wide and there stood a slender, black-clad woman.  “Uncle Fester, we were beginning to worry about you.”

 

“Morticia, we found these two young men by the side of the road.  You don’t mind that I invited them home?”

 

“Of course not, dear Uncle Fester.  Any friends of yours is always welcome in our home.”  She smiled warmly first at Fester, then at Napoleon and Illya before gesturing them in.

 

“Napoleon, Illya, this is, Morticia.  Morticia, this is Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryain.”  Fester stripped off the slicker to reveal a floor-length ulster beneath it.

 

“Any relation to…”

 

“No, unfortunately,” Fester interrupted, “But Mr. Kuryain has been to Transylvania.”

 

“Isn’t that lovely?  So few people can appreciate the nuances that lovely little country provides.”

 

“Morticia, this is a pleasure.”  Napoleon kicked his charm into high gear and it obviously worked, even on this rather sallow, high-cheeked example of womanhood.   She smiled at him and then at Illya, who bowed his head slightly to her.  “This is quite a home you have here.”  Napoleon glanced around at the interior, which was not to be outdone by the outward appearance of the house.  “Are those real vultures?”  He stared at the huge bird cage, and its occupants who jumped from perch to perch.

 

“Yes, they really finish the room, don’t you think?”

 

The whole house rocked on its foundation and a moment later a door opened to reveal a disheveled man who had smoke rising from his clothes.  “Tish, oh _cara mia_ , you should have seen it!   The head-on collision of the trains!  It was…”  The man trailed off and then grinned.  “I didn’t know we had guests.”

 

“Yes, dear, this is Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryain.  Uncle Fester brought them home.”

 

“Fester always did have a way with that.”  He pulled a panatela from the pocket of his jacket and began to smoke.  “Napoleon, huh?  Any relation?”

 

“None.”  Napoleon reached out to shake the hand, finding the grasp unnaturally cold, like Fester’s, but much stronger and firmer.  “We were wondering if we could use your phone?  Our car seems to have developed engine trouble and we should tend to it.”

 

“You’re more than welcome to it, but I don’t think anything will be open.”  Gomez pulled down on a dangling hangman’s noose and a loud gong sounded.  Immediately the chauffeur, now in butler gear, appeared.

 

“You rang?” Lurch’s voice was a bare rumble.

 

“Yes, Lurch, would you show this gentleman to the phone?”

 

As Napoleon was led away, he heard Gomez query, “Illya, are you by any chance Transylvanian?”

 

* * * * *

 

“Then they climbed into the hearse and drove off,” the man reported hesitantly, looking like he was ready to bolt at any second.

 

The cause of his discomfort glared at him, green eyes alive with displeasure.  Indeed, anger seemed the only emotion of which Hans Dietrick was capable at the moment.

 

“Can’t you do anything right, you mongrel?  Can’t you?”  Dietrick rose to his full height and snarled at the man.  “I should know better than to send an incompetent to handle such a delicate task.  Get out of here before I spit on you.”  He pulled back a foot, a prelude to kicking the man, sending him scurrying from the room before such a move was necessary.

 

Actually he wasn’t terribly displeased with his underling, but he had to keep up the act for appearance’s sake.  He’d long ago become familiar with Napoleon’s and Illya’s ability to wiggle out of a trap, no matter how secure it might seem.  This was just buying them a little more time.

 

He raked a hand through his red hair and sighed.  Then he reached for a sheet of paper upon which was scrawled the license plate number of the UNCLE agents’ rescuer.  Dietrick lifted the phone receiver and waited for a brief second.  “Yes, Thompson; I need you to track down an address for me.”

 

* * * * *

 

Napoleon Solo sat quietly at a large dinner table, doing his best not to stare, a nicety that his partner overlooked on occasion, and trying to get used to the ill-fitting suit Gomez had lent him.  Illya had made out worse, Napoleon decided.  At least the one that Napoleon wore had the proper number of sleeves.  Illya’s seemed to have a few too many.

 

Still, there was much of the Addams' house that was worth looking at, from the bats hanging from the ceiling to the trophy of a marlin with a man’s foot protruding from its mouth - all truly bizarre.

 

Yet, Napoleon had to admit that once you got over the initial strangeness, the Addams family was a charming lot.  He’d never been treated more elegantly.  No matter how odd the atmosphere, it was obvious that these people had breeding.

 

An older woman, introduced only as Grandmama, lugged a huge kettle to the table and placed it down with a thump.  Immediately a box popped open and Thing, a disembodied hand, began to serve.  Napoleon forgot his reserve and gasped, as did his partner.

 

“That’s incredible,” Illya finally whispered.  “How do you do that?”

 

“You mean Thing, old man?”  Gomez removed the panatela from between his clenched teeth and stowed it in a pocket.  “I have to admit, it wasn’t easy. The first few months, we got more soup on the table cloth than in the bowls.  It’s difficult when you’ve got a Thing that’s all thumbs.”

 

Thing dropped the ladle, made as much of an indignant expression as is possible for a hand, and disappeared back into its box.

 

“Gomez, you hurt Thing’s feelings,” Morticia chastised gently, brushing her long dark hair back off her shoulders with long delicate fingers.

 

“Sensitive little chap.”  Gomez excused himself, rose and opened the box top.  “I’m sorry, Thing.  I didn’t mean it that way.  We love the way you serve soup; especially Uncle Fester, when you drop it in his lap.”

 

Fester let out a pleased giggle and wiggled in memory.  The mere thought made Napoleon’s insides cringe, but he supposed Fester didn’t have as much of a reputation at stake as he did.

 

Slowly, Thing permitted himself to be coaxed from the box and finished ladling up the soup.

 

Napoleon sniffed at his spoonful warily and then tasted it.  Despite the grayish appearance, it wasn’t too bad, if a touch salty.  Indeed, Illya seemed to be relishing it.

 

“Grandmama,” Illya addressed Grandmama, “This is excellent.  I remember something like this in China.  It was made from caterpillar grass.” 

 

Napoleon stopped mid-swallow, wishing his partner would return to more neutral conversation.

 

Grandmama patted her silver-grey hair, flattered by Illya’s attention.  “It’s been so dry that the worm wort hasn’t been very good.”  She glanced down at her plate modestly.

 

“Grandmama is so clever at searching these things out.”  Morticia smiled.  “We are so lucky to have her cook for us.”

 

“Well, after all that bother with Macbeth, I figured family life seemed the best.  After all, I’m not a girl any longer.”  She ducked her head shyly and then glanced up at Illya.  He grinned at her and the woman was lost in a plethora of giggles.  Apparently, it wasn’t just Napoleon who was working his magic with the Addams’ women.

 

Carefully, and abandoning any more talk about their meal, Napoleon made his way through the main course.  Luckily, there was a gravy that covered everything, and he swallowed fast to avoid thinking about what he was actually putting into his stomach.  Napoleon noticed that even Illya had slowed his usual voracious eating tonight.  No wonder.  It’d been a long time since he’d had his dinner try to crawl off the plate.

 

“And for dessert,” Grandmama announced proudly, “snail and dandelion pie.”  Illya and Napoleon merely exchanged glances.

 

* * * * *

 

Hans Dietrick stared out from the warmth of his car at the dilapidated, weed-surrounded mansion and then squinted at the address in the dim glow of the dome light.  “Are you certain this is the place, Thompson?”

 

“That’s what the cornerstone says, Boss.”  A black-clad man pointed his flashlight over toward a gargoyle-decorated stone.

 

“Well, if Napoleon and Illya are inside that Frankenstein mansion, it shouldn’t be too hard to find them.”  A bolt of lightning struck a lightning rod and the house lights flared as sparks danced up into the sky.  “Unless someone else has already beaten us to it.”

 

A man, drenched from the rain, ran up to the car and assumed the stiff pose of attention.  “We’ve found something, sir.”  He saluted smartly.  “It looks to be a secret passage into the house.  I followed it in and it seems to come out into some sort of torture chamber.”

 

“Excellent – a way in and an interrogation room all in one.  Lead the way.”

 

* * * * *

 

Napoleon Solo made an involuntary face at the iron rack before him.  “The playroom, huh?  All you need is an electric chair.”

 

“Capital idea.”  Gomez clapped him on the back.  “I like the way you think, Napoleon, my boy.  I shall see to ordering one first thing tomorrow.”

 

Both men were so involved in conversation that neither noticed the Iron Maiden open and the curious head of Thompson start to poke out.

 

Gomez laughed and then frowned as he noticed that the door of the Iron Maiden was ajar.  “The children have to learn to keep things tidy down here.  Once we had a telephone repairman wander into that tunnel and we didn’t find him for two weeks.”  He slammed the door to the Maiden with a mighty clang, not hearing the groan of pain from within. “And he charged us overtime!  That’s the problem with the country today, my boys - no pride in workmanship!”

 

Napoleon shook his head and glanced over at a mummy case, then, impulsively, he yanked open the lid.  A figure, all in green, raised something akin to a gun at him.

 

“Aba too twan,  Solo?” it managed before Napoleon hastily shut the door.

 

“Ah, Mr. Addams… who was that?”

 

“A cousin on my wife’s side.”  Gomez followed his pointing finger.  “He hasn’t been the same since Lurch left him in the dryer too long.”

 

Morticia entered, hurrying in the short quick steps her dress demanded.  “Gomez, thank goodness I’ve found you.  I think Kitty needs to go out.  Oh, _mon cher_ , he’s barely touched his antelope and he’s clawing at the bars.”

 

“Tish, you spoke French!”  Gomez grabbed her and began to nibble his way up her arm.

 

“Control, Gomez darling; we have company,” Morticia warned.  “And Kitty…”

 

“Oh, right.”  Gomez released her and reached into his pocket for a cigar and began to puff away.  That accomplished he yanked down on a nearby hangman’s noose.

 

Immediately Lurch appeared.  “You rang?”

 

“Yes, Lurch; Kitty needs a little exercise.  Would you let him out?”

 

Lurch groaned, long and low.

 

“It’s all right, Lurch, you don’t need to play with him.”

 

Relief flashed across the pale features and he nodded.  “Of course, Mr. Addams.”

 

* * * * *

 

Dietrick glanced at his watch and shook his head.  “Where are they?” he muttered to no one in particular.  His scout was ten minutes late, the first time Thompson had ever disappointed him.

 

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Dietrick glanced up, his face dismayed at the sight of two men hauling the unconscious Thompson between them.  “What happened?”

 

“Must have been Napoleon, sir.  He was fine, then bang!  He’s out like a cold fish.”

 

“That sounds more like Kuryakin’s game, but no matter.  Put him in the car and have someone stay with him.  Nelson, show me the way.  If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

 

                                                                * * * * *

 

Just as Gomez and Napoleon exited from the playroom, a roar stopped Napoleon in his tracks.  He pulled back involuntarily at the sound.

 

Two black-clad men, arms flailing, screaming at the top of their voices, rushed by closely followed by a gigantic lion.  For the most part, the big cat seemed to be enjoying himself immensely and Napoleon could have sworn one of the men bore an uncanny resemblance to his old THRUSH adversary, Hans Dietrick.

 

“Oh, look,” Morticia said sweetly.  “Kitty has found someone to play with.”

 

“Sure hope he likes foul fowl.”  Napoleon dismissed the whole incident.  He was beginning to get the feeling of invulnerability in this house.

 

* * * * *

 

They walked back up into the living room and something caught Napoleon’s eye, not that many things in this house didn’t.  This was a ticker tape machine.  He approached it, reaching for the tape spilling out of it.

 

“Do you play the stock market, Napoleon, old chap?”  Gomez inhaled deeply on his cigar, savoring the foul taste.

 

“Occasionally, when my job permits.”

 

“Been meaning to ask you that.  Who do you work for?”

 

“My Uncle.”  Napoleon gave the standard stock line.

 

“THE U.N.C.L.E.?”  Fester popped out from behind a rearing stuffed bear.  “Wow!  You guys have it made.”

 

“What do you mean?” Illya asked absently, looking up from his game of chess with Thing.  “I do not consider long hours, hard work, excessive bleeding and constant headaches having it made.  They work you to the bone for the money.  It wouldn’t be so bad if Mr. Waverly would stay off our backs for a few moments…”  He trailed off as he studied the board.

 

“Perhaps a small gift from us would help,” Gomez offered in all sincerity.

 

“It certainly couldn’t hurt,” Napoleon allowed, chuckling at the thought of having Waverly see them here now.

 

“Then we do have to talk man-to-man.  What do you think of Brazilian Basket Weavers chances of a takeover?”  Gomez gestured to chairs.

               

Napoleon returned his attention to his host, who had opened a safe and was dusting off a brandy decanter and two snifters.  “Napoleon brandy, Napoleon?”  His hazel eyes brightened at the thought.

 

“What a card that man was.”  Gomez stuffed his cigar into his pocket.  “Tish, remember the picnic we took to Waterloo?”

 

“Of course, my dear.”  Morticia looked up from her knitting, an odd object with two necks and four sleeves.  “You proposed to me that day, remember?”

 

“ _Cara mia_ , how could I forget?  With all those cannon blasts and sabers, you never looked more beautiful.”

 

Napoleon smiled at him, uncertain of his next move, when he noticed a rain-streaked window.  For a brief moment, the face of Hans Dietrick appeared in it, and Napoleon raised his snifter to him.

 

Dietrick felt the rain trickle down his back and cursed each drop, his luck, and having Napoleon dangled in front of his nose like a carrot.  “The hell with it”  He lifted his rifle and aimed it at the grinning face of Napoleon Solo.

 

He was just about to pull the trigger when he found himself high in the air, the firearm being shaken from his grasp.  He was abruptly dropped and he rolled, coming up into a defensive stance, ready to do battle. 

 

He took one look at Lurch as the servant calmly tied a knot in the rifle barrel and decided that fleeing was the better part of valor.  He might be crazy, but not stupid.

 

                                                                                * * * * *

 

Napoleon came out of his office and nearly collided with Illya in the hallway.  “I take it you got a rather demanding invitation from Mr. Waverly?”

 

“That would be in the resounding positive.”  Illya buttoned his jacket closed and finger-combed his hair as they walked.  Napoleon shook his head in serious remonstrance, knowing that his own suit was as impeccable as ever.

 

Waverly looked up as they entered and waved them to chairs.  He barely allowed them time to sit before beginning in a gruff voice.  “Gentlemen, regarding that breakdown you suffered two weeks ago while returning here.”

 

“Ah, yes, sir,” Napoleon started guiltily.  “I was just finishing that report up.”  He made a mental note to begin his overdue report.

 

“Never mind that, man.  Did you make the acquaintance of a Gomez Addams that evening?”

 

“Yes, sir, we did,” Illya answered, confused.  “Is there something wrong?”

 

“Only if you consider a check for a million dollars made out to U.N.C.L.E. with the notation that this should keep me off your backs for a while wrong.  I think we need to talk…”

 

 

 


End file.
